This Text file is old! In a 🏛️Museum, an unsorted archive of (user-)pages. (Saved from Geocities in Oct-2009. The archival story: oocities.org)
--------------------------------------- (To đźš«report any bad content: archivehelp @ gmail.com)

"I need to get a flight to Washington D.C.," Donna informs the ticket 
agent behind the counter.

The harried man in his airline livery taps away on the 
keyboard.  "The last flight left an hour ago."

"What about another airline?"

He shakes his head.

"Okay."  She leans into the counter.  "When's the next flight."

"We're overbooked, ma'am.  On top of that, a snowstorm has blown into 
Denver Center and all flights are being diverted.  We're going to be 
hit pretty hard with waylaid travelers.  The earliest standby I have 
available is Wednesday, but this is the Christmas season so your 
chances of getting on the flight are slim.  You're welcome to try, 
but…."

"Thanks," she pivots away from the counter, and stalks away, filled 
with new purpose.  There's more than one way to skin a cat.

Two hours and twelve airlines later, her sense of purpose has 
evaporated, to be replaced by an invasive feeling of fate.  

"Dear God, are you still here?"

She turns at the sound of the now familiar British 
cadence.  "Spencer," she greets.

"No luck?"

"None.  The first flight I can get doesn't leave for three days."

"Bugger all."

"I think it's a sign, Spencer."

"It's not a sign.  It's a season."

"Maybe I'm not meant to go back."

"Maybe you're not," he agrees.

"I just…." Sighs Donna.  "I just don't know what to do."

"Perhaps you should make lemonade."

"How can I possibly make lemonade from this?"

"Well, if I recall correctly, you told me you had plans to ski."

"I don't feel much like skiing."

"Then don't.  Go to the resort, check into your cozy little rented 
cottage, drink lots of hot chocolate, and sit in the hot tub until 
you shrivel like a prune.  Sounds delightful, doesn't it?"

Donna can't help but catch just the tiniest bit of his enthusiasm.  
And he does make the prospect sound inviting.  Perhaps, after a day 
or so, she can call Josh and scope out the territory.  "You really 
think I should?"

"I think you absolutely must.  In fact, I'm so sure you should, that 
I'll drive you there myself."

"That won't be necessary, Spencer.  I reserved a rental."

"Not Speedy, I hope."

"Yes, how did you know?"

"Oh, dear," he sighs.  "I'm afraid, my dear sweet Donna, that our 
friends at Speedy did their fair share of overbooking for the 
holidays.  

"Don't tell me," she warns.

"It was nothing short of a melee.  Crazed pilgrims climbing over one 
another to get to the counter.  It was hideous.

"So, that's why you're still here?"

"Indeed," he clips.  "But I was luckier than most; it seems I managed 
to secure their last vehicle.  So…."  

"What am I going to do now?"

"You'll simply have to ride with me.  The last shuttle to the resort 
left an hour ago.  So, it appears that you have no choice but to 
accept my generous offer."

"I don't know, Spencer," she dodges.  "That's incredibly sweet of 
you, but—"

"'Sweet' is my middle name," he jokes, taking her suitcase from her.

"Is it?"

"Well, actually it's Basil, but I expect you to take that to the 
grave."

He offers his arm, and she's surprised at how easily she accepts.  
She finds herself trusting this man.  "Lead the way," she says.

****

The drive to Incline Village vacation resort takes them through 
scenic mountain passes where the roads are salted and sanded to 
prevent accidents during the heavy travel season.  Donna leans 
against the chilled passenger side window of the rented Pontiac.

"There'll be plenty of overnight snow," she says, absently.

"Which should provide some lovely powder on the slopes by tomorrow 
afternoon," replies Spencer.

The farther they get from Reno, the farther away she gets from Josh.  
She wonders how she'll get back to the city when she needs to catch 
the next flight out.  

"Do you ski?" she inquires, mostly to break up the silence.

"Obsessively," he laughs.  "It's one my enduring passions.  
Unfortunately, there won't be much time for such frivolity this trip."

"Why's that?"

"My best friend is getting married in Lake Tahoe.  That's why I'm 
headed there."

Donna's heart twists in her chest, a painful reminder that she may be 
destined to spend her life alone.  "That's nice."  She smiles, but it 
doesn't reach her eyes.

"We've skied together all over the world.  Switzerland, Japan, New 
England, you name it we've been there; but the North Shore has always 
been our favorite place.  We seem to always have the best times 
there.  We try to meet here every couple of years."

"And he's getting married."

"She," he corrects.  "And…not if I can help it."

"What?" she double takes.

"The advice I gave you on the plane…it wasn't just for you, Donna.  
It was a decision I'd only recently arrived at myself."

"So…you're going to the resort to crash a wedding."

"I'm on a mission, my friend."

"Are you so sure she feels the same way about you?" Donna asks.

"Does it matter?"

"Of course it matters!  You can't ruin a girl's wedding unless you're 
absolutely sure she loves you back!"

Donna's response was the most life he'd seen in her since meeting her 
this afternoon.  He screws up his face in a faux expression of 
confusion.  "You're saying that if I ruin her wedding and she doesn't 
love me, then she could end up hating me forever?"

"God!" she shouts.  "Are all men really that dense?"

Spencer laughs outright.  "Relax, Donna, I was only having you on."  
Donna's mouth falls open, which only makes Spencer laugh again.  "She 
loves me," he says, suddenly sobering.  "At least, I'm fairly sure 
she does."

"Define `fairly'," she demands.

"Eighty-five percent."

"And you know this how?"

"The last time we were together, she told me she did."

"She told you she loved you?"

"Yes."

"So, what happened?"

"I was an asinine fool.  I told her I didn't think of her that way, 
and then I did the stupidest thing I have ever done in my entire 
life."

"What was that?"

"I let her go.  Six months later she met Damien, some trust-funder 
with a corner office in a Fortune 500 company.  Last month I got an 
email telling me she's getting married and would love for me to 
come.  And that's when I knew I'd been kidding myself all these 
years.  I can't stand the thought of her with anyone else."

"Oh."

"She was sending a message that was about more than wedding plans 
when she sent that email."

"You think she wants to be rescued," Donna infers.  "Typical man."

"I'm supposed to believe that she was in love with me for all these 
years?  Now, she's met some guy and in a matter of weeks she's ready 
to settle down with him?  I know Imogen, Donna; her heart doesn't 
work that way."

"You broke her heart," Donna points out. "Maybe it doesn't work the 
way it used to."

Spencer opens his mouth to object, and then clamps it shut when her 
words sink in.  "You think she may really love this guy?"

"Of course not."  Donna shakes her head adamantly.

"But you said—"

"I'm saying that if you're expecting her to fall into your arms, you 
might have a long wait."

"I've only got two days."

A smile spreads slowly across Donna's face, her first since the 
disastrous day before.  "Then you're going to need all the help you 
can get."

****

When they arrive at the ski resort, Donna checks into her cozy 
cottage just off the path from the main lodge.  The one bedroom 
bungalow is quaintly appointed with a rustic living room.  The rock 
fireplace is massive, and the bearskin rug on the floor frightens her 
a little, but still, it's a room she can be comfortable in.

Just off the living room is the bedroom, the center of which is taken 
up with an antique, king-sized, four-poster bed.  Out back, in a 
glassed-in sunroom, is the private Jacuzzi.  Donna imagines that when 
that thing gets going, the glass picture windows get all steamed up.

Seventeen hours total travel time has left her craving a hot bubble 
bath.  After filling the generous tub, she tears off her clothes and 
sinks slowly into the water.

Spencer and Donna arrived too late in the evening to meet Imogen and 
Damien for dinner, but Spencer wasted no time scheduling a breakfast 
for the next morning.  Her presence would be unexpected, which would 
give her plan the delicious element of surprise.

Donna hopes that what Spencer said is true, and that Imogen really 
does love him.  She doesn't feel that she can be party to breaking up 
a truly happy couple, so her first order of business is to discover 
the status of Imogen and Damien's so-called whirlwind romance.

On the other hand, if Imogen does love Spencer, she can't imagine not 
trying to help.  Someone should have a real Christmas wish come true –
even if it isn't meant to be her.

After an hour soaking in the tub, Donna climbs out, slipping into a 
pair of warm flannel pajamas.  After wrapping her hair in a towel 
turban, she unpacks the laptop computer lent to her by her partner in 
crime and sets it up on the kitchen table.  Plugging the cable into 
the phone jack, and booting up the machine, she logs onto the 
internet.

If there's one thing she's learned working in the White House, it's 
that information is power.  And that when you play the game, make 
sure you more information than your opponent.

A simple search on the name `Damien Ruckler' reveals a world of 
hits.  "Busy guy," she mumbles.  She opts to skip the business 
related articles and goes straight to gossip columns.  Spencer was 
right, she discovers.  Damien is a trust-funder, worth tens of 
millions of dollars.  There are mentions of him in the New York Times 
going back more than fifteen years.

When Spencer had mentioned his name on the ride to the resort, 
Donna's ears had perked up.  His name had been dropped several times 
in the course of the last few months in connection with a bill that 
would be up for a vote soon.  A bill that had to do with allowing 
drilling in previously banned areas off the coast of Florida.  
Ruckler wants this bill passed; the Bartlet Administration does not.

Donna's research reveals Damien's life history and adventures in 
education.  And there's more than a few misadventures as well.  
Including a marriage in his early twenties that ended in annulment.

An hour later she knows everything she needs to know.  In fact, she's 
fairly sure she's uncovered Ruckler's greatest weakness.  Her 
brilliant criminal mind is forming a rather elaborate plan.

As she shuts down the computer and closes the lid, she smiles and 
says, "Damien Ruckler, get ready to meet your Achilles Heel." 

****

When Donna answers the door the next morning, Spencer's jaw drops, 
and he takes a step back.

"Donna?" he chokes.  "Dear God, is that really you?"

"In the flesh," she curtsies.

"I can see that," he guffaws.  "You must be frightfully cold."

"Yeah," she replies.  "Get in here, you're letting the cold air in."

Spencer steps into the cottage closing the door behind him, unable to 
take his eyes from Donna.  She's dressed like the ultimate ski 
bunny.  She looks like Ms. December in her skintight pink ski pants, 
with fluffy faux fur boots, and a matching top that zips up the 
front.  The zipper, of course, rides as low as decency will allow, 
and shows a generous amount of uplifted cleavage.  Her outfit really 
doesn't leave much to the imagination.

"The gear shop next to lodge opens at five AM, did you know that?"

He nods dumbly.  "Die-hard skiers like to get an early start."

"So…what do you think?"  She turns slowly around, arms held out to 
give him to full view.

"The man you're grieving over was stupid to let you go," he replies.

Her smile slips from her face.

"I'm sorry," he says, in a low earnest tone.  "You look gorgeous, but 
the truth is…." He trails off.

"What?  You can say it."

"Dressed in that…the way you look…you're not exactly the kind of girl 
I'd take home to Mum."

"Perfect," she grins.

"Say what?"

"I did a little research on our boy last night.  Thanks for letting 
me use your computer by the way."

"All for a good cause," he chuckles.  "Did you find out anything?"

"I did.  It seems Damien Ruckler has a penchant for trashy blondes."

"Oh," he catches on.  "So, that's why--?"

"Yes."

"And you're going to--?

"Yes."

"And then Imogen will—"

"Right again."

"You're positively brilliant!"

"Don't let Damien hear you say that.  He also likes his blondes with 
nothing between the ears."

"He'll never know what hit him," Spencer shares a conspiratorial 
smile with her.  "Smashing."

"Not if we play the game right.  Are you ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," he nods.

"Then, shall we?"

An hour later, Donna sits across from Imogen thinking, `Well, that 
didn't take long'.  The other woman is shooting daggers with her eyes 
at the luscious blonde bimbo sitting across from her.  Damien is 
holding true to expectations, taking every opportunity he can to 
flirt and inject some rather obvious double entendres into the 
conversation.  He even attempts to initiate a game of footsy with 
Donna underneath the table.

The man is arrogant and self-assured – and not in a good way.

Donna has no problem at all reading Imogen.  The woman hates her for 
being here, and hates Spencer for bringing her.  There is definitely 
a love vibe going on.  To Spencer's credit, he recognizes that 
Donna's presence there is enough and that it's unnecessary to stoke 
the fire of Imogen's jealousy.  He treats Donna with respect, but 
doesn't fawn excessively over her.

Imogen is certainly not Damien's type.  She's petite and brunette, 
with the kind of personality that would draw people around her, like 
moths to the flame.  If only she weren't busy murdering Donna in her 
mind.

Donna though, feigns oblivion, pretending she doesn't notice Imogen's 
enmity, or the reasons behind it.  By the time breakfast is complete, 
the trap is baited and awaits only the appetite of the mouse.

Throughout the day, Damien insinuates himself into every single one 
their plans, saying only that he wishes to get to know Imogen's best 
friend.  But the heated glances he sends Donna's way contradict his 
claims.  Imogen, of course, is no village idiot; she sees exactly 
what's going on and her anger simmers just on the surface.

It's not until Damien contrives a way to get Donna alone that the 
situation comes to a head.

Christmas morning dawns bright and sunny, but Donna wakes up alone.  
She stays in bed until long after noon, not quite willing to rise and 
face the day.  Besides, she thinks, tonight is going to be a trial, 
so why make the day begin any earlier than necessary?

For Christmas, the couple had planned a quiet evening party for 
friends and family at their private, palatial chalet, just outside of 
the resort.  The house is brimming with guests, but even Donna can 
sense that the warmth is forced.  Damien spots them the moment they 
arrive, as though he's been keeping an eye out.

"You're plan is working beautifully," Spencer whispers as Damien 
bears down upon them like a salivating bulldog.

"Just stay close," she tells him.

Damien shakes hands with Spencer before turning to Donna.  Dressed in 
a revealing black cocktail dress – much too skimpy for the weather – 
she's well aware of how tempting she looks.  Damien undresses her 
with his eyes, raking up and down her body but never quite reaching 
her face.  After all, what's above her breasts means next to nothing 
to this pig.  Subtlety, thy name is not Damien.

Spencer slips away to greet Imogen, leaving Donna alone with the pig.

"You look fabulous, Donna."  He extends his hand, which she accepts 
gracefully.  She's nearly knocked off her heels when he pulls her 
towards him and whispers in her ear, "Good enough to eat."

"Ooh!  Is that champagne?" Donna asks as a tray passes.  She raises 
her pitch a notch and adds just a touch of the airhead to her voice.

"You like that?" he inquires.  He swipes a flute from the passing 
tray and hands it off to Donna.  No doubt, he sees the opportunity to 
get her liquored up as one he can't miss.

"I just adore champagne," she giggles.  "So, bubbly and pretty -- 
like liquid gold."  She cringes inside at the idea of playing a vapid 
bimbo, but she thinks she can see the fun in it if it gets Damien in 
the right kind of hot water.

"Indeed."  He takes her arm and leads her about the room, pointing 
out the people it would be good to know, as he puts it -- including 
two Congressmen, and a Senator from Wyoming.  Donna ducks her head 
against Damien's shoulder.  She knows all three of the politicians, 
and more importantly, they all know her – or at least that she's Josh 
Lyman's assistant.  One glimpse of her and the jig will be up.

The conversation turns to his work, and she nods and asks dumb 
questions, as if she knows nothing about the petroleum business.  
What she knows about his line of work would make steam come out of 
his ears.  It's on the tip of her tongue to ask about conservation 
efforts versus the bottom line, and his opinion on H.R. 428, but she 
stops herself just in time.

Playing dumb has its advantages when people tell you things they 
wouldn't tell you otherwise.  Things like deals being made and 
expensive gifts changing hands.  Donna's ears perk up as he talks, 
but she manages to disguise her sudden interest as blind adoration.  
She's just learned something to take back to the office -- something 
that could give them bargaining room when H.R. 428 comes up for a 
vote.

As he continues to ply her with champagne, she can tell he thinks he 
has the upper hand, as if any woman with a single brain cell couldn't 
see him coming a mile away.  She thanks the heavens for her tolerance 
for liquor and the abundance of potted plants in which to dump what 
she can't drink.

When Damien's hand slides down her back, getting closer and closer to 
her rear end, she uses every technique in her mind to keep from 
shivering in revulsion.  She even tries to pretend he's Josh, but 
that only makes her feel like an adulteress.

She allows him to lead her out of the main room and into what appears 
to be a library.  In half a second he's pressing her against the wall 
and covering his mouth with hers.  Somehow, she hadn't expected his 
ploy to be quite this forward, so she's shocked when his hand cups 
her breast.  When his tongue violates her mouth, she comes instantly 
to her senses, biting down and simultaneously drawing up one knee.

He stumbles backwards, doubling over in pain as his hand covers his 
privates.  His face reddens and Donna's heart stops when she sees the 
rage in his eyes.  "You bitch!" he grinds out.

Moving along the wall, she scans for the escape route when she 
notices the others in the room.  Sighing with relief, in the safety 
provided by the presence of others, the bones seem to dissolve from 
her body.

"Actually, I was just going to say bravo."  The chill in Imogen's 
voice slices through the air, and Damien pivots painfully around.

Donna silently rejoices the moment when Damien realizes Imogen saw 
everything.  But he's a man, so he'll deny wrongdoing with his dying 
breath.  "Imogen, darling, this isn't what it looks like."

Donna practically whispers the words along with him.  Like reciting 
the lines of a favorite and predictable film.  Which, of course, if 
he's true to form, means that he'll turn the blame on her any second 
now.

"She tempted me, with her barely-there dress, and her--"

Imogen sighs, rolling her eyes heavenward.  "That excuse didn't work 
in the Garden of Eden, Damien.  What makes you think it would 
possibly work on me?"

Hmm, Donna thinks, interesting tactic.  Personally, she would have 
gone with `she came on to me, I was just rebuffing her advances'.

"I had my suspicions about you, Damien," Imogen sighs.  Strangely, or 
rather not strangely, Imogen doesn't seem too broken up by Damien's 
betrayal; rather, she's behaving almost relieved.

"Suspicions?"  He plays dumb.

"You're not exactly subtle, Mr. Master of the Double Entendre," Donna 
joins in.  "I've seen more subtlety from dogs that wanted to hump my 
leg."

Damien doesn't miss the fact that Donna's voice no longer sounds 
quite as empty-headed as it did before – and neither does Imogen.  
She turns to Spencer, the question in her eyes.

"You set me up," Damien realizes.

"And like a starving mouse, you couldn't resist the cheese," Donna 
confirms.

"I couldn't let you marry him, Imogen," Spencer nervously pipes up.

"What are you saying?" she replies.

"I know that it was wrong," he begins.  Donna gives him points for 
accepting responsibility off the top.  "But I enlisted Donna to help 
me."

"Help you what?"

"Get you back," he softly says.  "When I received your email, I knew 
I couldn't stand the thought of you being with anyone else."

"Ah!" Damien shouts.  "I knew there was something going on between 
you two!"

"Shut up!" Spencer and Imogen shout in unison.

"I was an idiot," Spencer turns back to her.  "When you told me how 
you felt, I was frightened.  Not because I didn't feel the same way, 
but because I was afraid of changing what we had.  It's only recently 
I realized that we're meant to grow and change, and that if we don't 
I'll only lose you anyway.  And, that, I'm afraid of most of all.  
Don't marry him, Imogen."

"I won't," she promises.

"What?!" Damien chokes.  "You can't cancel the wedding, Imogen.  What 
about the guests?  What about the—"

"Shove it, Damien.  My parents paid for everything.  None of your 
precious money is going to be lost."

"This isn't about the money," he states.

"Ah, yes, I almost forgot about the business deals you were working 
on.  I'm not marrying you because you want to make a deal with 
Senator Gray.  I'm also," she says, turning back to Spencer, "not 
calling off the wedding because of the things you said, Spence."  The 
quirky smile slips from his face.  "I'm calling off the wedding 
because of what I've seen tonight, not what I've heard.  Now," she 
sighs, "if you'll excuse me, I have a room full of people to inform 
of the change in plans."  With that, she pivots sharply and sweeps 
from the room.

Donna steps toward Spencer with every intention of fleeing the room 
herself, but she can't resist the need for one final parting shot at 
Damien.

"By the way, Damien," she drawls, "your portfolio lists a profit of 
twenty million this year, not forty.  And if I recall correctly, your 
role in the Brazilian expansion was minimal…at best."  Damien's jaw 
drops, which only eggs Donna on further.  "A piece of advice," she 
continues. "Don't hang your hopes on Senator Gray.  He's polling at 
thirty-four percent, his numbers are soft, and he doesn't have the 
funds to mount the campaign necessary to overcome bad press.  But, I 
bet you already knew that.  He knows that if he votes for 428 he'll 
never win another term.  As it is, he'll have to explain to his 
constituents why he's been taking bribes from you."

"You don't have any proof," he points out.

"I really don't need it," she counters.  "My boss won't ask for 
proof."

"Your boss?"

"Did I mention I work for the White House?"

Damien pales considerably, and Donna laughs all the way out into the 
corridor, with Spencer at her heels.

****

"Let me talk to her," Donna suggests.

"No, I should—"

"Two women," she interrupts.  "She might listen to me."

He thinks for second, considering her logic, before nodding his 
head.  "She's upstairs," he informs her.  "Packing."

After the announcement, the house emptied quickly of most of its 
revelers.  A few lingered briefly, offering their condolences to the 
woman who would no longer be a bride.  Damien went after the Senator, 
informing Spencer and Donna that they better be gone by the time he 
returned.

Donna climbs the steps, finding the master bedroom easily, and taps 
lightly on the open door.

"Go away."

"Imogen," she announces her presence.  "Can I come in?"

"Oh, it's you," the other woman says.  "What is it now?"

"I wanted to apologize," Donna says.  "Not for what I did, or the way 
I did it, but for the way everything turned out."

"How did you know?"

"How did you not?" Donna counters.  "I did some research.  It was 
right there in front me.  You didn't know him very well, did you?"

"I guess I didn't."

"You weren't really planning on marrying him, were you?"

"Yes, I was."

"Isn't that why you invited Spencer?  Weren't you hoping he would do 
exactly what he did?"

"No," she says defensively, and then the tension seeps from her 
shoulders.  `Yes," she confesses.  "Though I was hoping he'd simply 
stand up in the church and declare his undying love."

"And instead he allowed you to save face, and not appear to be the 
villain at your own wedding by jilting Damien the Wonder Prick at the 
altar."

Her mouth gapes like a fish, opening and closing until she can 
finally speak.  "I didn't quite think of it that way."

"He loves you, you know."

Imogen bursts into tears, the events of the evening finally catching 
up with her.  Donna moves to her, grasping her arms, and leading her 
to chair near the fireplace.

"I don't know what to do," Imogen wails.

"You've already done the hardest part," Donna tells her.  "You've 
gotten out of a relationship that only would've made you unhappy."

Imogen's tears slowly begin to trickle away.  She peers at Donna, as 
though suddenly remembering that Donna is her worst enemy.  "Why are 
you here?" she asks.  "Didn't you come here with Spence?"

"No.  We just met on the plane.  He gave me some good advice and I 
offered to help him."

"What advice did he give you?"

"He told me that I have to fight for the man I love.  He told me that 
because he had every intention of doing the same thing.  So," Donna 
continues, "if you don't go down there right now, and throw your arms 
around him, and tell him you forgive him for being a fool, then I 
really wouldn't see much of a point in rushing back to Josh and 
fighting for him with everything I have.  Now, would I?"

"I guess not," the other woman sniffs.

"So, you have to do this for me.  Otherwise, I might lose all hope 
and the spend the rest of my life living without him."

"I've been there…at least for awhile.  It isn't any fun."

"I didn't think so.  Imogen," Donna asks, hopefully, as she places 
her hand on the other woman's shoulder.  "What's it going to be?"

"I suppose it would be terribly selfish of me to steal away your hope 
like that."  She stands from the chair, gathers her things, and heads 
for the door.  When she reaches the threshold, she turns back to 
Donna.  "Especially after everything you've done to bring us 
together."  As an afterthought, Imogen drops her suitcase and coat 
and rushes up to her new friend, throwing her arms around Donna's 
neck.  "Thank you," she whispers.  "Thank you for everything.  You've 
been a real Christmas angel."

Donna watches Imogen go, unshed tears constricting her throat.  A 
moment later, from the top of the stairs, she watches as Imogen does 
exactly what Donna urged her to do.  Spencer kisses her unabashedly, 
holding the woman he loves in a tight embrace, as though making plans 
to never let her go again.  Donna stamps down the pain that pierces 
the center of her heart.

When he breaks the kiss, he glances up to see Donna at her quiet 
perch, and mouths a silent `thank you'.

They escape from Ruckler's manor in separate cars, Spencer and Imogen 
in her car, and Donna in the shared rental.  She wonders if she'll 
get the opportunity to see them again and hopes so.  She'll have to, 
she thinks, if Spencer wants his rental car back.  Donna smiles at 
the thought.

When she arrives back at her cottage, she finds herself keyed up from 
the night's events and decides to take a short walk.  Despite the 
cold, and her lack of serviceable shoes, she takes the path into the 
woods, finding there a place where the snow falls quietly into the 
trees.  A clearing with stone benches and a frozen fountain as a 
centerpiece welcomes her, and she wipes the snow from one of the 
benches before sitting down.

She listens for a moment, willing with every fiber of her being for 
the peace of the wood to invade her restless heart.  She imagines 
that she can hear a whoosh as each falling snowflake touches the 
ground.  

She glances up at the stone fountain.  The clearing's centerpiece is 
a granite angel with wings outstretched, as if to wrap her in a 
loving and healing embrace.  Her wings are covered in icicles, and 
the smile on her face is as mysterious as it is transcendent.

"Do you know?"  Donna asks the angel with the puzzling smile.   "Do 
you know how lonely I am?"

The angel's smile doesn't waiver, she merely offers a cold comfort.

"I'm not asking for happiness," Donna continues, only half aware of 
the tears that slide down her cheeks.  "All I've ever wanted was a 
chance."  She wipes the tears from the cheeks with gloved fingers, 
hoping to catch them before they freeze.  "You know, Christmas is 
supposed to be a time for miracles.  As a child, I believed that.  
Tonight…I almost believed again.  But it's so hard," she tells the 
unchanging angel.  "It's hard to believe when the Christmases come 
and go and I'm still…alone."

"I helped make someone else's wish come true tonight -- two someones 
actually.  Did you know that?  Even though it hurt to see them happy, 
I did it anyway.  But I learned something, you see.  I learned that 
sometimes love has to be helped along, and that you have to be 
willing to fight for your heart's desire.  Because if you can't fight 
for it, then you're not worthy of it, are you?"

"So, I'm going back.  I'm going to tell him everything.  I'm going to 
tell him how I feel.  Actually say the words this time.  Even if it 
changes everything -- even if he doesn't feel the same way.  So, I'd 
appreciate it if you could see your way clear to making things a 
little easier.  Maybe, ease up on the weather a bit and find me a 
reservation on the next flight.  I would appreciate that."

Just then the snow clouds above part, revealing a bright full moon in 
a clear, midnight blue sky.  The moonlight shines down upon the 
granite angel, reflecting off the icicle-covered wings, making her 
appear alive and glorified.  Donna's breath catches in her chest, as 
the angel seems to light up right before her eyes.  The wings appear 
almost to move and flutter, and Donna smiles through her tears.

She thinks she may have just received a divine answer.

She rushes back to her cabin, for the first time truly aware of the 
cold that seeps into her clothes, chilling her to the bone.  Her 
teeth are chattering as she steps into the unexpected warmth of the 
entryway.  Discarding her gloves and coat, she kneels before the 
fireplace, allowing the blazing fire to chase away her shivers.

When the sensation begins to return to her fingers, she stares into 
the fire and questions its very presence.

"You know…when I woke up and you were gone, I thought maybe it was 
just another dream," a voice she knows better than her own says from 
behind.

She nearly falls to the floor in her haste to simultaneously rise and 
turn around.

"But then, the scratches all over my back were pretty solid evidence 
that I hadn't been dreaming," he says.

"Josh?"  Though he stands before her, dressed divinely in jeans and a 
black sweater, with a matching turtleneck peeking from the neck, she 
can't quite believe he's real.

"And then…I found this."  From his back pocket he pulls the Christmas 
ornament she's spent the last two days cursing.

She opens her mouth to speak, but finds that her vocal cords have 
forgotten how to function.

"I found it in the living room," he continues.  "You'd left it 
behind.  It was then that I realized I had a decision to make.  I 
could let you go, or I could…not.  I chose not."

"How can you…?" she attempts.  "How did you…?"

"Donna," he sighs.  "Did you really think this angel could make me 
feel something I didn't already feel?  Look at it, Donna," he demands.

She steps back as he approaches her, afraid that if she touches him, 
if they make contact, that he will disappear.  A product of a fevered 
imagination, and a broken heart.

"Look at it," he says again.  " It's made of plastic, Donna, not 
magic.  It was probably broken from a mold in some factory somewhere 
and then someone… who's paid way too little, by the way…poured 
glitter all over it.   It's a child's toy; a decoration for a holiday 
that comes around once a year.  You can't tell me that this piece of 
plastic made me feel something I didn't feel."  He snaps the ornament 
in two and tosses it into the fire.  Donna gasps, her hand flying to 
her mouth.  "And it can't make me stop feeling it either."

"Josh?" she asks, the reality of his presence finally seeping 
in.  "You're really here?"

"I'm really here," he confirms.  "It wasn't easy.  Traveling this 
time of year is a bitch."

"And everything that happened…everything you said…that was real, too?"

"All of it," he nods.  "Okay," he admits, "I may have gone a little 
overboard on parts of it, but Donna, that stupid angel wasn't magic, 
and it didn't put me under any spell."  He takes her face in his 
hands, caressing her cold cheeks with his warm thumbs as he forces 
eye contact with her.  "You're the magic, Donna," he tells 
her.  "Just you."

She runs her hands up his chest, testing his solidity and soaking up 
his warmth.  His hands move down to her hips to draw her closer.

"I shouldn't have left," she tells him.  "Magic or no magic, I should 
have been there when you woke up.  Faced the music, as it were."

"Yes, you should have," he agrees.  His breath on her cheek sends a 
shiver down her spine that has nothing to do with the contrast 
between his warmth and her chill.  "I wanted to wake up with you."

"What can I do to make it up to you?" she asks, slipping her hands 
around his back to soothe the scratches beneath his clothing.

"Be there in the morning," he advises.  His nose caresses her temple 
and his five o'clock shadow scratches her cheekbone leaving behind 
the heat of abrasion.  She grasps the back of his neck with one hand 
and turns her face into his.  Maddeningly, he places kisses 
everywhere on her face, except her mouth.

When he finally takes her mouth with his, her knees nearly buckle.  
Tongues caress and taste, remembering the night two days ago, but 
feeling as though it's been an eternity since they've been together.

"I couldn't get here fast enough," he tells her between kisses and 
breaths.

"I couldn't get a flight out.  I wanted to come back to you."  Her 
lips drink greedily of his, unable to get enough to satisfy the 
burning hunger that she's carried forever, it seems.  A hunger left 
unassuaged by their one night together, in fact, a hunger that's only 
increased since then.

"You'll always come back to me," he confidently decrees.  "And if you 
can't, I'll come for you.  I'm not letting you go, Donna."

Josh's hand gathers the hem of her dress, his fingers digging 
possessively into the flesh of her thigh has he pulls her against his 
growing erection.  They moan as one, and Donna gulps down the 
vibrations of heat and desire as they transfer from his mouth to hers.

"Nice dress," he compliments.  "You didn't get dressed up for me.  
Have you met Lars already?"

"Jealous?" she chuckles.  His hot, open mouth connects with her cold, 
bare neck turning her chuckle into a gasp.

"Insanely," he confesses, his tongue tasting her skin.

"I was invited to a party.  I'll explain later."

"Tell me now," he urges, as he reaches for the zipper at the back of 
her dress.

"You see…." She breathes heavily.  "The problem with that…is that I'm 
finding it a little difficult to think right now."

Her admission thrills him.  He locates the tab of her zipper and 
begins to gently tug, as he sucks her earlobe between his lips.

****